The Lovers I've Known Part 2: The Game
by NoCleverSig
Summary: John challenges Helen to a lovers' game. "If I win," John said, "you tell me of your past lovers. If I lose, we finish this."  Stands alone or No. 8 in the "No Destination in Mind" series.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything of Sanctuary or its characters, I just play with them. My words, however, are my own.  
**Author's Note: **This story may stand alone or can be considered No. 8 in the **No Destination in Mind Series**. All you need to know is that John is cured and living/working with Helen. You don't have to read the first part of this story to enjoy this one. And I do hope you enjoy it. Let me know either way. **Reviews are CRAVED!**  
**Credit: **I must credit Ladydeadlock and her story "_When Jack Met Helen,"_ and also Passionate Cec' for her_ "Piano Series" stories _and her original character of Matthew. They let me borrow their ideas/characters for this one. Please read their stories. They are wonderful!

**The Lovers I've Known (Part 2: The Game)  
(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig)**

The kiss was soft, slow, and sensual. Helen's body melted into John's, her mind spinning, her nipples hardening, her muscles clenching around her center.

What had they been talking about? She couldn't remember. Oh yes, lovers. Her lovers. John had asked about her lovers, and she had reluctantly told him…a little. Enough to appease him, she hoped. It was never a good idea to talk about former lovers, but John had been…insistent. And, well, given how badly this conversation could have gone, the night was looking remarkably optimistic.

Helen wrapped her arms around John's neck, deepening the kiss, but he broke it off, moving now to her ear, her neck, sending shivers down her side. She could feel her thighs slickening, her thin white gown growing sticky with sweat.

"John," she whispered in his ear.

"Hmm?" he said, moving to the other side of her neck now, kissing, nipping, licking her skin. If she wasn't careful, she'd have to wear a scarf tomorrow, which might give her staff the wrong impression given the warm weather…or the right one, she smiled to herself.

"John," she said again, trying to get his attention, but his hands had moved to her breasts, fondling her through her painfully thin gown. She moved her hands from his neck to his chest, tracing her nails along his smooth, firm muscles.

She started to speak his name again, to tell him she was ready, more than ready. But he cut her off with another kiss, deep and hungry. Her body physically ached from desire, the need to be touched, to be filled, to have him inside her. She was finding it hard to breath from it.

"John," she repeated her voice low and rough, pleading.

He brought his hands to her arms and pinned her, bending down to suckle her breasts through her gown. She tried to reach up to stroke his back, his neck, fearing she might come just from the foreplay he was working upon her. But he wouldn't free her. Wouldn't let her go.

"John, please…," she was begging now. She couldn't remember when she had last begged a man. It had been a long, long time if ever.

He finally stopped and looked at her holding her arms and her gaze. His eyes were dark and dangerous. His smile just shy of evil. "What is it you want, Helen? Tell me." he asked softly, still smiling at her.

She could barely speak. "I want you inside me."

"Ah, I want that too, my dear," he said, grinning a devilish grin. Then he nipped at her ear lobe and whispered, "But let's play a game first, shall we?"

"A game?" She shook her head, trying to think, make her mind function clearly.

"A game," he said, smiling at her. He reached a hand down and began to massage her. With his other hand he still held her tightly, whispering in her ear. "I'll take you places, and if you've ever made love in that place or a similar one, I win, and you tell me with whom, when, and where. All right?"

She was trying to listen, to follow his rules, but he was using his hands, his fingers so skillfully, she couldn't concentrate enough to respond with any sense of coherence. All she could manage was, "Mmm…."

"I'll take that as a yes, love," he said. "However, if I take you somewhere you've never made love, then you win, and we finish this," he said, plunging his fingers inside her. She was close, so close….

He pulled out. Stopping. Leaving her cold. Frustrated.

She opened her eyes and stared at him, her breathing ragged.

"You're serious?"

"Deadly," he answered her, his eyes still dark, his smile still just shy of evil.

"John?" she asked, gauging his mood, this teasing he was playing at.

"Do you trust me, Helen?"

She looked at him, trying to read him. Was he angry? Upset? Jealous? Or was this really some sort of sexual game he'd dreamt up to arouse them? She couldn't tell.

He leaned into her, stroking her again, whispering in her ear, "Helen, do you trust me?" he asked again.

She closed her eyes. "Yes." It was all she could manage.

When she opened them again, he was smiling broadly at her. It was the last thing she remembered before he took hold of her arms and they disappeared.

* * *

They reemerged in her bathroom. He still held onto her arms, pulling her into his naked chest and black, silk pajamas so she wouldn't fall when they landed. She could feel his hardness pushing against her.

"Here?" he asked, looking around.

Ah, the game, she thought. All right. If he wanted to play, she could play, for a time at least.

She followed his gaze, looking at the shower, the bath tub, the bath mat, the vanity, the mirror. "John, this is an awfully broad area. I think you need to be more specific."

In a flash he picked her up and set her on the vanity, her back against the mirror, scattering her makeup, perfumes to the floor. She gasped.

"Here?" he said, holding her about her waist, leaning into her, his lips inches from her.

"What were the rules again?" she asked, distracted by his tall, lean body hovering over hers. His naked chest, the bulge in his black pants.

He shook his head slowly. "Tsk, Tsk, doctor. One would think for a surgeon you would have ample concentration," he scolded her mockingly. "The rules are simple, Helen. If you've made love here, or in a similar location, you have to tell me. Who? When? Where? I win." He smiled. "So, yes or no?"

She hesitated a moment then said, "Yes."

"And?" he urged her on.

"Ian, last year, Vienna, the Hotel Imperial."

John nodded, starting to pull them away, to teleport them again, but Helen pulled him back, her hands around his shoulders.

"Christopher, the London Sanctuary, 1945...Mikhail, St. Petersburg, 1908ish…Manuel, Argentina, 1962 maybe 63…," she tilted her head thinking.

John's jaw nearly dropped. She smiled.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"All that I can remember on such short notice, but if we stay here long enough…," she smiled a grin just shy of evil herself, feeling for the first time she had gained the upper hand.

"My, my" he said, "This _is_ going to be an interesting evening after all." And in flash, they were gone again.

* * *

They reemerged in a confined space, John holding her even more tightly than before.

"John? Is this?" she asked, looking around.

"It is."

"How the hell did you get us here?"

"I have many known destinations, Helen," he smiled.

They were in an airplane lavatory in mid flight. Helen could feel, hear the vibrations from the engines. A Boeing 767. Probably transatlantic, she thought.

"You could have killed us!" she shouted.

"I'm very experienced at this, Helen. Trust me, remember? So…yes or no?" he asked.

She glanced at the silver chrome of the airplane lavatory, the toilet seat, the mirror, the "occupied" lock on the infinitely small door, then looked up at John, meeting his challenge dead on. "Do I have to know the airline?"

"No, but it might be helpful if you remember where you were flying to at least," he suggested.

"From North America to Tokyo, his name was…Martin, I think."

John cocked an eyebrow at that. "You think?"

"It was a long flight," she whispered.

"When?"

"Last year, maybe the year before."

"Any others?" he asked. For the first time he seemed hesitant. But this was his game. She was simply playing by his rules.

She bit her lower lip, then opened her mouth to continue.

"Fine," he stopped her. "I think I am getting the picture now. One example will suffice," he said with a touch of anger in his voice.

"This is your game, John, not mine. You made up the rules," she reminded him.

He smiled again. "Indeed I did, Helen. Shall we?"

She nodded, and in the next moment, they were gone once more.

* * *

They materialized in a service elevator, the grey padding along the walls a clear indication of its use.

Helen was vaguely disappointed. The bathroom vanity, an airplane lavatory, now an elevator? She knew John was far more creative than this. At least, he used to be. She may have to work on expanding his horizons. It could become a project of a sort for her. She smiled to herself, suddenly taken with the idea.

"Well, Helen?" he asked, pulling her thoughts back to the present.

"A service elevator specifically or any elevator?" she asked.

John sighed. This was becoming tedious, he thought, and not at all how he'd hoped it would go. "The lady's choice," he replied. He was reverting to his manners as a means of defense, and Helen recognized it.

She smiled, not able to help herself, a vivid memory coming back to her almost immediately.

She'd met the man only once. Had never met him since. And they'd shared only one experience together, in an elevator, but it was an experience that still sent tingles throughout her body whenever she thought about it. Actually, now that she thought about it, the man had looked remarkably like Dr. David Anderson, and she wondered if that was part of the good doctor's initial allure.

"Morocco…1980s sometime….His name was Jack. Jack O'Neill."

John squinted at her. This was the first time she'd provided both a first and a last name. This one must have made an impression. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"And this…Jack O'Neill? Did you know him well?" John asked.

Helen shook her head, and put her arms around John's neck. "Not part of the rules, John. You said simply when, where, and with whom. No details." She leaned up and kissed him. She could feel his erection growing again under the black silk pants.

He swallowed. "Ah, so you are correct, my dear. Those were the rules."

She nodded.

"Dare I ask for other examples?"

"You said I only needed to provide one, remember?" she smiled at him.

"But I'm assuming from your question about the kind of elevator that there were others?"

"There were," she answered honestly but not saying anything more.

John sighed, and she was wondering if he was beginning to regret this game. She certainly was. It was still playful and flirtatious, for now, but it was veering dangerously close to jealousy and anger by the minute. And that was the last thing their relatively new relationship needed. Still, John was the one who had pushed this on her. And if he was willing to see it through, so was she.

"I think we're done here," John said, his voice growing hard.

And in blink they vanished again.

* * *

This time they emerged in what appeared to be a concert hall but she didn't know where. Her stomach was starting to churn from the constant jumping. John's body was attuned to teleportation, had been for more than century. But hers was not, and it was starting to wear on her. He noticed.

"Helen, are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

"Just not used to so much teleportation, John. That's your skill, not mine."

He nodded. The game was beginning to get old anyhow. "A few more jumps, then we'll be done." He still had to find the one place. After that, they could end this. He almost regretted having begun it at all.

"Where are we?" she asked him, still holding tight to his hands.

"A music hall in New York," he said. "I used to come here on occasion to listen to the students play. I found it soothing."

She hoped that was all he had done while he was here.

She looked over and saw the Grand Piano. She moved toward it, letting go of John's hands, lightly skimming her fingers over the open keyboard.

"You used to play, didn't you?" he asked.

"I did," she said, sitting down on the bench, her fingers lightly touching the keys. He sat down next to her.

"Do you still play?"

She shook her head. "Not often. On occasion, but not often."

She seemed very far away from him at the moment, appearing lost in a memory.

"Well?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, remembering the game. How could she have forgotten? She wished she could. "So what was the question?"

"Here?"

"On a piano bench you mean?" she asked.

"Yes, or somewhere close by," John answered.

She looked down, began fingering the keys lightly again, starting to play a song, not answering him.

Her mood had changed, darkened. This whimsical, flirtatious game had suddenly taken on a somber tone, and he wondered what it was that had brought on such a melancholy mood for her.

"It started here," she said, quietly, softly playing the notes. It was tune familiar to him, but he couldn't place it.

"And?" he asked, prompting her to finish the rest of the game. "With whom? Where? When?"

"His name was Matthew," she answered slowly. "And I don't really want to answer anything else about that, John, if you don't mind." She sat at the piano, her eyes closed, playing gently, tenderly. He sat by her side, listening to her. Not saying a word. When she'd finished, she sat back, put the cover over the keys, and turned to him, her eyes blurred with tears. "May we leave now?"she asked. "Please?"

He looked at her, searching her face for some clue as to what had affected her so, but could find none. He simply nodded. "As you wish, my dear," and took hold of her hands.

* * *

They materialized on a beach in Brazil. All around them were bronzed, shapely bodies basking in the sun, playing in the waves. Although John must have looked out of place in his black silk pajamas and Helen in her white, see through gown, no one seemed to care. This was Rio after all.

"Here?" he asked.

The sunlight, the people, the beautiful clear ocean breeze seemed to lighten her mood.

She smiled. "Yes."

He sighed again. Was there no hope of finding a place, just one place?

He started to prompt her, but she cut him off. She knew the game. Knew it very well by now.

"Rio, 1970, with…," she hesitated. She suspected he hadn't a clue to this aspect of her life. She wondered what his reaction would be. "Her name was Angelique."

John's eyes opened wide.

"A woman?"

She looked at him, holding his hands. "Yes, a woman. She was dark skinned and gorgeous and exceptionally brilliant."

She'd shocked him. But she'd also intrigued him, she could tell. What was it about men that found intimate female relationships so irresistibly exciting?

"I'm…speechless, Helen," he finally said. "Were there others?"

She shook her head. "Not part of the game, again, John. You keep trying to change the rules."

He nodded. "Indeed."

"Let's just say, it's been a long, lonely life, John, and leave it at that, shall we?" she answered him, the ocean breeze blowing through her hair.

She was done with the game. He could tell. And although he'd technically won every match, he wanted to try just one more time to lose.

"One more place, Helen, then we can be done. Will you?"

She sighed, wishing this was over. Wondering what would happen next between them when all of this was said and done.

"All right, one more," she conceded.

* * *

She could still hear the ocean, smell the sea air, but it was cold. She shivered in her thin gown. She felt John wrap his arms around her for warmth, his chest to her back, his head resting atop her shoulder. When she opened her eyes it was dark, but she could see the sunlight sparkling on the water outside the cavern, see the sea water rushing in through the opening.

They were in a sea cave somewhere. Something about it was familiar.

"Are we on the Isles, John?" she asked.

She could feel him smiling against her. "Yes, Helen. Ireland."

She smiled. It almost felt like being home. Almost.

"Well?" he asked her, whispering in her ear. There was a desperation in his voice. A neediness she hadn't heard before. What was this game about, really? She wondered.

She thought about it. If it had been a cave, the answer would have had to have been 'yes.' But a sea cave? No, that she could honestly say she had not experienced before.

"A sea cave? No, I've never made love in a sea cavern before, have you?" she asked him, her body leaning back against his, his arms around her waist holding her tight, her hands wrapped with his.

She felt him smile against her. "No," he said. "Never. You win, Helen," he said quite happily.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him, folding her arms about his waist, feeling his warm skin, his hardness growing against her stomach.

"John, what was this really about? Are you angry with me? Is that what this is?"

He shook his head, holding her tight, smiling at her. "No. Helen," he said, freeing a hand to stroke her hair. "I'm not angry with you. I have no right to be."

"Then what?" she asked him puzzled.

He sighed. "I just wanted to take you somewhere, find someplace, where I could make a new memory for you."

She closed her eyes and nodded in understanding. This was the John she knew. It made perfect sense now. All of it.

"John, don't you know, it's not the place that matters?" Helen told him.

He looked at her, trying to understand.

"It's you," she squeezed her arms around him tighter. "Every night with you _is _a new memory."

She stood on her tip toes, her feet, her body freezing, and kissed him. It was a soft, slow, sensual kiss. Helen's body melted into John's, her mind spinning, her nipples hardening, her muscles clenching around her center.

"But then again, since we are here, I'm always open to new experiences," she said, grinning a grin just shy of evil.

He grinned a devilish grin back. "As the lady wishes," he said.

END


End file.
